The Story of a Child of the Devil
by Almost an Actress
Summary: Raoul asks Madame Giry for the tale of the Phantom, not knowing what he will get.


"Tell me!" the young man demands. I am struck with a choice…do I tell this innocent my horror story? I promised Erik I would tell no one, but that was in a different time. A time when we were both young and he…he was not mad. Because if I am honest with myself, it is true what the Vicomte de Chagny says. Erik _has _gone mad. What he does not say, but what is also true…is that his madness is partly my fault. And so I look at the boy and tell him my story.

_ I, __Antoinette Giry, was fourteen years old, training to be a part of the __Opéra Populaire ballet corps. The ballet master had decided to give us a bit of a respite from the intensive schedule by taking us to an underground freak show. The other girls – the youngest in our "mini-corps" was nine; the eldest sixteen – were delighted and frightened with this idea. I thought it to be almost boring…stupid, to be honest. Most of the acts were clever fakery, such as the woman with no head, or the bearded lady. The other girls didn't seem to realize this, and I even saw one of them –Mathilde, I believe – flirting with the strong man. I stayed silent the entire trip, having nothing to say and being disgusted with my fellow pupils. _

_ And…that's when I saw him. He was a young boy, hardly older than me, in a cage meant for a bear or a tiger. There was dirty straw all over the floor of the caravan-like thing. The bars of the cage were rusty – it couldn't have been safe for anyone, even an animal. He was covered with dirt and what appeared to be ash, and there was dried blood caked around his back and feet. He had a dirty potato sack covering his head. There were mocking eyeholes cut into the fabric, and a large sign over the cage proclaimed him "THE DEVIL'S CHILD!" _

_ The girls crowded around the tiny cage, and I was pushed to the front, almost pressed into the rusty bars. I found a clean spot on two of them and wrapped my hands around the bars, so as not to be jostled away. This Devil's Child was in possession of a small toy monkey, and it seemed to be the only thing he loved. He was clutching the tatty thing to him, turning his back to us and the other girls jeered. I felt such compassion for him. He could have been as young as me, and he was being treated no better than a disobedient animal. _

_ A large man holding a whip burst into the cage, giving us a sickening smile. He turned to the Devil's Child and growled, "Face the girlies, freak!" The Devil's Child kept his back to us, his shoulders shaking. "One more warnin'!" the large man barked. The Devil's Child turned even farther away, trying to scoot into the corner…but to no avail. The large man raised the whip and gave us a wink before it cracked down upon the boy's back. The boy jerked and I was suddenly aware of where the dried blood had come from – he got whipped regularly. _

_ The girls around me began to laugh, their faces contorting with such ugliness. It was as if their true natures had been revealed. The whip came down again, and Paulette – the only nine-year-old in our company – howled. She found the whole sight __ever__ so funny. Because we elder girls treated Paulette like our pet, this caused more disgusting laugher. Cackles, really. I lost all respect for those girls that day. _

_ All my closest friends: Victoire, Martine, __Frédérique__…they were my friends no more. After this, I retreated from the rest of the "mini-corps," hiding myself in excuses of every sort. My most popular was extra practice time._

With a grim chuckle, I am drawn from my tale. I look up at the Vicomte de Chagny with wry eyes. "How else, Monsieur le Vicomte, do you think I became the best ballet dancer of my time?"

He offers me a weak smile. "Go on please, Madame Giry," he says quietly.

_The whip must have come down at least five times, my fellow ballet dancers shrieking along all the while. The large man, covered with sweat from merely lifting his arm a few times, finally stopped whipping the Devil's Child and ripped the bag off of his head. At this terrible sight the sick laughter finally – blessedly – stopped; it was replaced by screams. Little Paulette fell into the arms of Elisa, who was no better off than she; Elisa fainted against Flavie. Everyone clamored away from the cage except me. They left in a flurry. _

I break from my tale once again to look at the Vicomte. "He was terribly deformed, Monsieur le Vicomte. One side of his face looked as if someone had run it through a meat grinder, and where a nose should have been was an almost…skull-like recess. I won't make it sound pretty, Monsieur. It was horrifying to look at," I sigh.

_And yet I did nothing. I just stood there with my hands wrapped around the bars of his cage and stared in the jaundiced eyes of the Devil's Child…that would later be known as the Phantom of the Opera. I wanted to help him, I did. I wanted to get him away from the hellish life he was living. But I couldn't. Who was I? A fourteen-year-old girl who was good at ballet. I couldn't free a living devil. Slowly, his hands came down to the floor of his prison and he drew the bag back over his head and put a finger to his lips. The large man had left the whip in the cage, but I swear I didn't know what he meant to do with it. I backed away from the Devil's Child and hid behind a curtain as the large man came back._

_ "I lef' my whip in 'ere, freak," he growled. "You'd better notta got your dirty mitts all over it." He opened the door to the cage…I don't know what he expected to happen after that. A cowering disciple, maybe. But…he did not get this. The Devil's Child had fashioned a noose from the whip, and before the large man knew what was happening...well, he had been killed by his own cruel weapon._

"And you stood and watched all of this happen?" the young man demands.

"What could I have done, Monsieur le Vicomte?" I snap. "The large man was dead before I knew what had happened, and how could I have let such a sick man go on abusing this poor child anyway? I was young and afraid. Now, let me finish my story."

_I took tentative steps toward the cage of the Devil's Child. "You've killed him," I whispered._

_ "Did I have another option?" he asked evenly. For reasons still unclear to me, I was surprised by the sound of the boy's voice. It was strong and deep, on the verge of grumbling. He threw my doubt away with one sentence, because it was true. He could either live a life of whippings and abuse, cruel taunts and laughter at his expense…or he could take a life to save his own. But to do this saving, he needed help. He needed _me_. _

_"I am Antoinette Giry," I said. "You can come out of the cage now. I won't hurt you."_

_ "I have no doubt, Antoinette Giry," the Devil's Child chuckled. He stepped out of the cage and stretched his arms and legs. The movement caused fresh blood to weep from his back. Seeing my concern, the Devil's Child shook his head. "Leave it. Monsters like me deserve pain."_

_ "I can help you," I insisted. "You won't need to feel pain anymore." I took him to catacombs of the Opéra Populaire and helped him survive by bringing him food and water. We grew close, the Devil's Child and I, striking up a friendship of sorts. He told me of his past: born with a deformity so terrible that his mother couldn't bear to look at him, and his father sold him off to a freak show. His name was Erik. Such a plain, unassuming name for such a boy. I learned that he was a genius. He was an architect who designed and built amazing structures such as his underground home where he still resides. He had the voice of an angel, and could compose tear-inducing scores. He was so intelligent and clever that he could talk circles around even the finest scholars and businessmen. _

"That genius has turned to madness, Madame," the Vicomte says gently, driving me from my reverie.

"I know," I answer. "But I love him anyway, and I always will."

With a pained look, the Vicomte thanks me for my time, and exits. Who knows what he will do to Erik. Kill him, possibly. It will free the man from his suffering, yes, but I will never see him again. How do you confess that you've fallen for a madman? How do you confess you've fallen for the Devil's Child?


End file.
